


I've Got A Blueberry For A Cyborg!

by FruitFrakker



Category: Ghost in the Shell (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Blueberry Inflaiton, Inflation, Wonka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruitFrakker/pseuds/FruitFrakker
Summary: Motoko Kusanagi is captured by a crime lord with... peculiar interests. Blueberry transformation smutfic, oneshot. A bit meanspirited, sort of a bad end.
Kudos: 5





	I've Got A Blueberry For A Cyborg!

The gynoid looked almost peaceful in her repose, though Arno Pullman knew that illusion would end the moment she woke up. Part of him still couldn’t comprehend that the person who had caused such trouble to his endeavors in Japan was such a beauty, but he knew _exactly_ what to do with her once she was caught. It cost a pretty penny, but as a tech guru—and an info broker on the side—he was practically made of those.

And lying in the crate before him, lined with plush cushioning as if it were a coffin, lay the product of his handiwork. Major Motoko Kusanagi, in the synthetic flesh, festooned in a very particular outfit of matching blue blouse and trousers, adorned by large brass buttons and a distinctively large red belt. The cut was a bit ‘closer’ than its inspiration, displaying The Major’s voluptuous physique, but he was assured it would be every bit as durable. And of course, major—he chuckled to himself—modifications had been made to the body, as well as few subroutines added to her brain case, which she, in due time, would become well aware of.

For now though Arno soaked in Motoko’s last peaceful moments, gently running his fingers through her violet pomp and across her pert lips. There was almost a sensation of hesitation in the young man; not out of fear of reprisal—he had practical complete control over her—but of fear that the reality of her humiliation couldn’t possibly live up to the expectations he’d run over and over through his mind. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“Wake up Motoko.”

The cyborg’s eyes flashed open before quickly bolting up right, panting for breath. This must’ve been her first conscious moment in months, after the goons he’d hired had taken her by surprise. Her eyes darted about the room, her face contorted in dazzled bewilderment.

“What the hell was that? This isn’t the Newport Warehouse District! Why can’t I access the net?”

“Take it easy, Motoko,” Arno said calmly, offering her his hand. “You’re my guest after all.”

Motoko took his hand—she had to, it’d been a preconditioned response—and stood up, stepping outside of the box, her mind still all aflutter. Arno tried to keep his amusement from spilling out, though he couldn’t help but grin at her confusion.

“This doesn’t make any sense. I was investigating a smuggling ring and now I’m… where?”

“Savannah, Georgia, Imperial America,” Arno threw out his arms in a sweeping gesture. “Home of the free because of the brave. And I do believe that was _my_ smuggling ring you were interfering with. But let us not concern ourselves with trifling details. Arno Pullman, at your service.”

Motoko’s face lit up, and for a second Arno worried the inhibitor programming had failed, but she quickly settled into a neutral, if somewhat worried, expression. “You’re the kingpin of the group I was investigating… Why don’t I want to do anything? And what’s with this ridiculous outfit?” She ran her hand down her chest and svelte side down to her hips, a motion which made Arno nibble his lip.

She wasn’t one to talk, Arno thought to himself. He’d seen some of the outfits she’d worn in the past. Still, he brushed the matter aside. “I think it fits you perfectly, Miss Kusanagi. Now, I understand you are a connoisseur of chewing gum?”

Her eyes lit up again, though this time it was less a natural reaction and more like her facial figures were being dragged into place. “Oh yeah! I sure do love gum! I’m a world record holder in gum chewing ya know.” She jammed a hand into her pocket and robotically retrieved a stick, peeling away the foil and sticking it in her mouth and beginning to chew. The exaggerated grin suddenly disappeared, replaced with a confused expression. “Wha… what was that?!” She blurted, though still she chewed, even blowing a bubble.

Arno basked in Motoko’s lack of control. “I do believe you were explaining your admiration for gum. That’s why you were investigating me, correct? To find out more about my start up GumBo?”

“Yeah that’s right!” She said in a canned response, popping another bubble. “You’re stuff’s real good Mr. Pullman! I once chewed one of your banana blitz pieces for over four months!” This time she seemed slightly less concerned as she regained control, her chewing even more vigorous, though a furrowed brow still revealed some confusion. “So… I guess I’m here to try a new product?”

The crimelord’s smile gleamed in reply. “Wouldn’t you know it,” he started, eagerly digging into his pants pocket, “I _do_ have something new in the works… something quite… _special_.” He pulled the wrapped gum out, almost flaunting it. He couldn’t believe how well the conditioning was working; he half expected her to break from spell at any moment and snap his neck.

Her eyes merely widened however, a curious head tilt letting strands of her burgundy bangs fall across her crimson eyes as she continued smacking her gums. “Special huh? What’s so fab about it?” Arno relished the clack of her brown loafers against the sterile tile floor—the sway of her full hips in her blue trousers—as she slowly approached, the apprehension on her face being replaced by intrigue.

He chuckled, batting the stick about. “This is an entire three-course meal packed into a single strip of gun.” This was actually a lie; the gum was little more than a placebo, and everything that was about to occur to her had long ago been preprogrammed into her chassis, even the specific taste profile of the ‘gum’. Still, a little showmanship was all part of the act. “It’s sure to change the world… or at least it will once I work out the kinks-“

“Like I care!” The gynoid spat, snatching the gum from his fingers and peeling back the wrapping. He could see her eyebrow twitch in confusion, despite the fake wide smiled plastered over her face. The way her lips quivered and salivated at the prospect of this new gum… if it wasn’t an erotic sensation for The Major, it certainly was one for Arno.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you,” He clucked, wagging his finger ineffectually. How many times had he practiced this in the mirror, and now it was coming true! All the millions had certainly been worth it.

She huffed, spinning around as she placed the blue stick of gum to her lips, plucking the old wad out and sticking it behind her ear. “It’s just gum, right? I’m not afraid of trying anything.” Like a glove she now fit her role, popping the gum into her mouth and chewing vigorously. “Mmmph…” she murmured, a hand running down her side to stroke at her thigh.

“I’d stop if I were you,” he said with a smile. “But… if you insist on continuing, what does it taste like?”

“It’s… nnnnf…” She nibbled her lip as the flavor hit her, her fingertips running across her waist along her bright red belt. “Mmm… tomato soup… it’s so hot and creamy, and so much of it…” She was squirming all about, her arms clutching to body and pushing her breasts tightly against her blouse. “I can feel all of it running down my throat…. Nnnf…”

Arno took in every lips smack, bulging cheek, lapped lip; the way her hands sensually drew across her body as if in a trance, with the slightest of gurgling sounding from her belly. “Stop, don’t go on,” He said plainly, almost having to stifle a chuckle.

“Oooh… Second course…” She ran her tongue around her mouth, slightly shivering. “Roast beef and baked potato… with cheese and sour cream and… everything… oooh so much of everything…” She leaned her head back, her fingertips gravitating to her belly which grunted—maybe ever so slightly pushing out a smidge or two. “It’s so tender… and so filling…”

“I’m warning you,” he said, trying not to break out laughing at the display Motoko was pantomiming. “If you don’t spit it out before desert-“

A beat passed with Motoko still chewing obliviously, a look of bliss seemingly frozen on her face as the rest of her body stood perfectly still. A pit formed in Arno’s stomach as the smile ran away from his face. Fuck, had something gone wrong? Was she about to break from her programming? Did he need to go and get-

“Blueberry pie and ice cream! Oh my goodness, it is the most marvelous blueberry pie I’ve ever tasted!”

God that was a weight off his shoulders—just a little hiccup nothing more. And right on cue, a spot of blue appeared on the tip of her pet nose, spreading like a wave over the rest of it and down he cheeks, as well as up across her forehead. He could see her shiver again, still chewing vigorously as ever as her stomach growled even louder.

“Nnnf… maybe a bit too much blueberry pie, don’t you think?” The now blue faced woman commented, rubbing a belly that was definitely looking less toned than it did a moment ago. “What are you looking at anyways?”

“Always the desert that does it,” he shook his head, trying not to grin at what was unfolding before him. “Every time...”

“The hell are you talking about,” She cocked an eyebrow, her lips still smacking as her hands moved across her gurgling belly, now clearly bulging against her blouse. “Something wr-“

Finally the ditzy—if not by choice—gynoid saw it, eyes widening as she lifted her hands to her face; jaws still chomping of course. Blue; her hands were blue. So was the rest of her by this point, but only Arno could behold that lovely sight—her azure cheeks complimenting her maroon bangs, indigo lips ceaselessly flapping as she gazed at him bewildered crimson eyes. “A-Arno, what the hell’s happening to me?”

Arno just leaned back, allowing himself a satisfied smirk as Motoko’s waist billowed outward, dragging her hips and thighs along with it and causing the berry-to-be to stumble awkwardly around on sloshing legs. He just had to marvel at the perfection of the SmartFiber outfit he’d had tailored for her—enough elasticity to effortlessly stretch along with her bloating body, but juuust enough give to let flesh push between gaps in buttons and the spreading gap between her blouse and trousers Motoko seemed to appreciate it less, her hands flying all over her expanding form—he supposed to make sense of her new body, as in vain as that was—especially around the belt which now bisected her torso, digging several inches into her bulging flesh as if to give her an absurd hourglass figure—not that her expanding hips and breast needed the help. “Ugh…” She grunted between chew, flapping her thickening arms against her bulging sides. “Arno, I feel weird…” She moaned, the bright red belt finally bursting from her; Arno watched the golden buckle fly across the room and out of view.

“Nor particularly surprising,” Arno murmured, soaking in Motoko’s discomfort as he poked a bit of flesh bubbling up between the gaps of her brass buttons, watching her gelatinous midsection wobble as it spread and gurgle. “You’re blowing up like a balloon… or should I say like a blueberry?” It was a bit awkward, reducing the script down to two people, but it would’ve been more awkward still to have involved one of his servants in this affair. All things considered, he figured he’d done a good job.

“Unnnf… B-blueberry?” She grunted, feeling her chin press against what once was her collarbone as her neck disappeared under her fat cheeks and the ever-rising growth of her torso. Delicate movements were no longer in the cards for the tear-drop shaped girl, instead she could merely awkwardly waddle, legs spreading farther and farther apart as her thighs began to lose definition against the bulk of her torso; seams—preprogrammed on cue of course—bursting open to reveal ever more azure flesh seeking release. Her arms could merely bat against her sides as they underwent a process similar to her legs, and with a _ping_ the top button of her blouse burst off. Those tits! Oh those tits! Glorious spheres filled with juice and pulp, bouncing about with every clumsy movement the stupid ex-spy made, teats pulled taut against the fabric, staining her front with blueberry juice, aching, begging, to be released! But Arno was not that merciful; even with the gaps growing larger and larger, she would remain in her fabric prison, a mocking reminder that she ever even pretended to be a human being….

Ahem, Arno chuckled nervously, blushing in slight embarrassment at how worked up he was getting over this. For her part, Motoko just moaned pathetically between smacking her lips, still absentmindedly chewing the gum as if her life depended on it. Waddling was beyond her now—she merely wobbled side to side as her crotch pressed against the floor under all her weight, juices gushing all about, while her dainty feet clad in loafers teetered back and forth on stunted calves, soon to be swallowed by her rotund bulk. She grew higher and higher as well, the gap between her pants and shirt nearly meter, her bulging blue paunch and navel on full display—nearly eye level with Arno now. Her head began to dip out of view behind a divot sat the top of her body—though her silly purple pomp was still very visible—and her hands began to recede as well. Perfect, absolutely perfect, he really had to hand it to his biomechanics team for their work here; she was truly gargantuan now.

“P-pwease, do somethin’…” The fruit whined, drumming her hands against the divot as her gurgling, sloshing body continued to grow outward. “C-call a doctuh, pwush a pin intuh meh…” God, the blubbering those thick lips and cheeks caused, not to mention that incessant chewing, just enhanced the pathetic nature of her circumstance.

“Poke you with a pin?” Arno asked, cocking an eyebrow—not that she could see with her body in the way. “Heaven’s no, we wouldn’t want a cute thing like you popping, now would we?” He tapped at her exposed navel, feeling the skin begin to grow taut, the growth slowing. A creaking, audible stretching noise began to accompany her increasingly violent gurgling.

“Hwelp… Hwelp!” The berry blubbered. Arno assumed she was flailing her extremities about, but he could no longer see them as her divots had grown too deep. Arno let her stew in her state of intense pressure for a moment or two, knowing that if he got the timing just a little off his staff would have quite the mess on their hands.

“Oh don’t worry, I have a contingency for just this occasion,” He placed his fingers into his mouth and whistled. On the far side of the room a door slid open, and into the room rolled a procession of sedan-sized spider-tanks—Tachikoma—painted all orange except for the crew-compartment on its back which was painted an emerald green. Motoko tried to shift her mass around to assess the sounds approaching her, but by the time he wobbling had turned her even slightly a dozen robots had already surrounded her, holding their claw hands in the air as they circled in towards her. “Initiate Juicing Protocol,” Arno commanded.

“Jwuicin’?” She muttered, wobbling in irritation as the robots approached.

“Squeezing, Ms. Kusanagi. You need to be squeezed immediately before you explode.”

“Expwode?!”

“It’s a fascinating process…” He mused, watching as the spider-tanks began to sing in child-like voices:

_Tachi-wachi-koma, hooray!_

_What do we have to play with today?_

_A silly berry cyborg it seems;_

_Looks like she’s gonna burst at her seams._

Motoko didn’t appear to enjoy the attention she was getting, but it wasn’t like she had much of a choice in the matter. No amount of groaning or hand flapping was going to stop the robots from grabbing her with their claws and then, working in unison, tipping her over to lay on her back. She could nothing more than groan and look on forlornly through the bangs draped across her crimson eyes.

_There’s no need to be alarmed;_

_With our care you’ll be unharmed._

_We’re sure to try our very best!_

_(We’d rather not clean up the mess…)_

A Tachikoma not currently grabbing at the hapless fruit approached the orange and green circle and then, after tensing its legs, with a galloping jump leap-frogged over two other robots on top of Motoko. For a second Arno worried she’d be squished like a grape in a wine press, but instead she merely deformed then sprung back like a glob of gelatin, leaving the spider-tank to bobble about on top of her mass, another button bursting away from the pressure. She was moaning nonstop now as the robot gleefully hopped up and down on her belly, juice spraying from her teats and other orifices every time the machine bounced against her globular form. After a few more excited hops—and gushes of juice—the Tachikoma settled down on top of her, then fired its claw-like hands into the far wall, connected to the robot through a titanium wire.

_We must admit it’s quite a shame,_

_This silly girl won’t be the same._

_Her stupid choice has took its toll;_

_Now nothing left to do but roll._

A winch in the robot’s arms began to pull, the robots around the fruit working in tandem to push and guide the massive sphere the correct direct. The robot’s legs stepped slowly at first—one indenting against her gigantic bosom—but soon it developed into a log rolling motion as Motoko began spinning towards the wall, egged on by the helpful force of the robotic hands behind her. Arno watched her mass slosh about as it turned, her breasts deforming as they pressed against the floor, another jet of juice squirting out. He tried to get a good look at her face but could see little more than a crimson blur of her brilliant red eyes as the rolling motion grew quicker and quicker. He wanted to know if the bitch was still chewing the gum, so he drew closer as the gynoid cane to a stop against the wall. Robots parted slightly to let him up to her face and, sure enough, her pudgy face was still working that useless wad of cud. Her eyes though now burned with intense contempt.

“Arno, you sick fawk…” She sputtered between chews, juices dribbling down her lips. “Whatevah yah did to meh, I sweah tah gawd-“

“Seems like your personality has returned,” He mused, stroking her cheek while his other hand drummed its fingertips against her chest. “Good. It’d be a shame if you never realized the magnitude of your fuck up. Still enjoying the gum it seems though,” he poked her purplish cheek, feeling it indent several inches.

“Fawk you…” The berry gynoid groaned, any intimidation undercut by a new wave of lusty groans. “Imma… Imma… oh gaaawd….”

Satisfied for now, Arno stepped back, motioning for the Tachikoma to continue their work. The one atop the fruit ‘saluted’ him with its claw arm, before firing them again at the opposite wall, beginning the process anew.

_Chew~, Chew~, that’s all you can do;_

_So big and round and fat and blue._

_You should be glad we’ll never stop,_

_A cow like you would surely pop!_

Whether she ‘popped’ or not didn’t really matter to Arno, but he had to admit it made good entertainment. Any attempts to articulate her anger began to dissolve more and more into lusty moans, which themselves were overshadowed by the sloshing and squirting of her massive body, as well as the whirring of the spider-tanks servos and motors. All that was left was the glorious sight of a dumbass bitch spy reduced to a colossal plaything, chewing and moaning contentedly. All was as it should be.


End file.
